by Alexa Verde
“Five years ago, Ross was muscular and rather handsome,” Mirabella said.
He saluted her with the bottle he clutched. “Finally! Thank you.”
“Do you think Ross could’ve killed Karli?” Colt asked as casually as if he inquired what she’d eaten for breakfast.
Scarlett sent her ex-boyfriend an appraising glance. “Nah. He was with me at the time. Either way, frankly, he wouldn’t have the guts.”
“Seriously, this must be that Insult Ross Day,” Ross muttered as he settled in the armchair, cradling the bottle.
“Did you tell the truth about Ross being with you at the time of Karli’s murder?” Mirabella watched Scarlett closely to catch any signs of hiding something.
Scarlett met her gaze. “Absolutely.” She got up from her seat. “I thought the Daisy Killer murdered Karli. That stuff on the news with him being back was scary. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I have a date soon. You don’t think I dressed like this for him, do you?”
Expression grim, Ross stared into his brandy and didn’t move.
That was less time and information than Mirabella had hoped for, but with Ross giving them away, they wouldn’t get much further, anyway. She leaped to her feet.
“Unless you’d like a date with me, and then I can change my mind.” Scarlett had the audacity to wink at Colt.
Colt smiled. “I’m flattered, but I’m already taken.”
Scarlett shook her head. “Well, if that ever changes, just let me know. I’ll make myself available.”
Mirabella’s fingers formed fists, and she forced them to straighten, one by one.
Colt walked Mirabella and Scarlett to the door.
As she stepped outside, Scarlett reached into her purse, fished out a business card, and thrust it in his hand. “Call me anytime, honey. Day or night.” After giving him a bright smile that showcased her probably just whitened teeth, she sauntered to her convertible.
Mirabella grimaced, then reminded herself that it could be worse. Scarlett could’ve scrawled her phone number on Colt’s arm with her lipstick.
Colt handed Mirabella the business card. “I’m not going to call her.”
“I know.” Well, she hoped not, anyway, as she placed it in her purse. “But it’s helpful to have Scarlett’s contact information.”
Since she watched the other woman with the utmost attention, it didn’t escape when Scarlett sent a glance back at them before sliding inside her convertible. Much more animosity than Mirabella had expected was in her glance.
And when Scarlett entered and looked at Mirabella…
On a hunch, she sprinted forward and placed her hand on the door before Scarlett had a chance to drive off. Without asking anything, Colt ran beside her. Him being mostly silent could be useful sometimes.
Scarlett gave out a noisy sigh. “Do you need anything else? I don’t want to be late for my date.”
“Just a quick question. Why did you place the daisy bouquet outside my office?”
Something flashed in Scarlett’s eyes, something Mirabella would’ve missed if she hadn’t watched the woman so closely. “Who told you it was me? I don’t even know who you are.”
“I know I’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw me, but our interviews after Karli’s death would be kinda hard to forget. I’m sure you still recognize me. Pretending you didn’t was one of the things that gave you away.”
Colt stepped close to Mirabella and wrapped his arm around her protectively.
Mirabella thought about shifting away, but something inside her warmed at his gesture. Maybe, one day, he could forgive her for leaving. Maybe one day she could even forgive herself. “An owner of a business neighboring mine gave me your description.”
“You’re bluffing.” Scarlett didn’t sound sure.
“Maybe. And maybe I’ll pass the information to the police. With this new murder, supposedly by the Daisy Killer, your gesture could look suspicious.”
“Very suspicious.” Colt nodded.
Scarlett’s eyes widened. “I don’t know anything about any of the murders. It’s just.… You made our lives miserable when Karli was killed. Gossip goes around fast. How do you think it felt, being the girlfriend of a murder suspect? I saw the ad for your business, and I wanted you to feel as bad as we did when you poked your nose into our lives.”
Whoa. So anything Scarlett had said couldn’t be trusted.
Colt snorted. “It wasn’t Mirabella’s fault Ross was under suspicion. The police suspected him, too.”
Grimacing, Scarlett raised her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Why did you put daisies and a spider in my mailbox? For the same reason?” Colt’s voice held notes of anger apparently even he wasn’t able to hide.
Her head jerked up, and she shuddered. “You’re not going to pin that one on me. I didn’t do it. A spider? No way.”
With that, Scarlett drove off. The woman obviously played a role in this story, but Mirabella wasn’t sure which one. Killer? Or merely out for some petty revenge?
Chapter Seventeen
Mirabella and Colt strode to his car and got inside.
“Where to now?” He turned the key in the ignition, and the motor revved.
As she clicked her seatbelt closed, she explained the text from Aster Andrade and their lunch plans. “She may be able to help me with some useful information about last night’s murder.”
Her heart twisted again. Back where she was five years ago. She had to find the killer—before the next death.
“I know that restaurant.” Colt pulled away from the curb. “Do you think she’ll mind if I tag along?”
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. She was very impressed with the Second Chance at Life Charity and with you when she interviewed you last year.” Another flare of jealousy. She hadn’t been back in the country for last year’s charity ball, but excited about seeing their dad on TV, the twins had made her watch a recording of the interview.
At least, unlike Scarlett, Aster would never make a pass at Colt. At least, Mirabella hoped not.
Being the wife of a handsome billionaire wasn’t all roses and diamonds and yachts. One had to be constantly on guard. She couldn’t imagine how sweet, gentle Ashley managed when Brett hadn’t completely shed his player reputation yet and some women thought that even a married billionaire was fair game.
Well, either way, Aster wasn’t like that.
As Colt drove to the Italian restaurant, Mirabella stayed quiet. While she did her best to focus on the case, her awareness kept returning to the man beside her.
Just the scent of his musky cologne brought back so many memories. Of their first kiss and the way her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. Of the day he’d proposed on Brett’s yacht in the middle of the ocean and the way she’d overflowed with joy. Of the caring way he’d help her with the twins when they’d been toddlers.
And other memories of their marriage made the blood rush faster deep inside her. For safety’s sake she watched the rearview mirror and her surroundings, but memories occupied her mind.
The simplest memories were the ones she cherished the most. He’d been there for her when she’d been upset about a difficult case or when one of the twins had been throwing up or when a lunch with her mother had emotionally drained her. He hadn’t said much. But he’d helped her with the twins or had Moirah make her favorite pot roast followed by chocolate cheesecake or given her a foot rub while they watched a comedy show she liked.
Her heart warmed, and she barely resisted the urge to rest a hand on his knee as she’d done so many times when they were first married. She realized it now—during their marriage, she’d paid more attention to the wrong things. To the things not said, to the heartaches not healed, to the frowns not explained. It was as if she’d expected things to go bad.
No surprise, after seeing her parents’ marriage collapse, and after her first marriage left her with soul-deep wounds she was afraid to admit to herself, muc
h less reveal to Colt.
Now, when he dropped everything to help her, when she started opening up to him and he responded by opening up more to her, she saw all the wonderful memories they shared. And the other ones they could’ve shared, if only they’d given each other a chance to explain things. Instead, they’d both withdrawn into their jobs. Something they could rely on to provide them with comfort and a sense of self-worth. So unlike what they provided for each other.
If only they’d made an attempt to talk.
As he stopped at the traffic light, her phone beeped, announcing an incoming text. She fished her phone out of her purse and checked the text. Her contact, not another threat. While the car moved forward, she checked her email. Her acquaintance came through, though it wasn’t much to go on.
A female victim, twenty-two years old, killed in her home in the early evening. No signs of forced entry. One detail made Mirabella pause.
There were high quantities of a strong over-the-counter antihistamine in her system, one that could be used to treat either seasonal allergy or insomnia. Hmmm, even if she had insomnia or the worst seasonal allergies, Mirabella doubted the girl would’ve taken that many pills so early in the evening.
Somebody might’ve drugged her. Why?
Mirabella had an idea, but she needed more to go on.
She slid the phone back in her purse and told Colt what she’d learned.
“Sounds like somebody needed to make her weaker to make killing her easier,” he said when she was done. “Maybe the killer was a woman?”
“It’s possible. Thank you for supporting me in this.” This time she did reach out and touch his hand.
“Of course. The twins need you.” He paused as he made a turn, then laced his fingers through hers. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. And what’s important to you is important to me.”
Her chest constricted. She’d never supported him in his work. Even the word “lab” had made her gut tighten painfully. She’d stopped him when he’d tried to talk about his work and hadn’t visited any of his labs until the daisies arrived.
And yet, he dropped everything to help her, including his beloved job.
What an amazing man.
An amazing man she’d lost five years ago.
They were close to the restaurant, and she wished they weren’t. Time like this to savor with Colt was a blessing she didn’t deserve. He threw her a quick glance, then returned his focus to the traffic.
“You know I don’t want you going back to your apartment till this is cleared up. But you don’t have to rent an apartment. I’ve invested in a few properties, and some are sure to be between tenants. You can choose any one you want. And, like I said, you’re welcome to any vehicle you want, too.”
Gratitude warmed her. “Thank you. What about a motorcycle?”
He chuckled. “I should’ve thought of that. Motorcycles, too.”
“Even a custom-made one?”
“Even a custom-made one.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “You know I never cared about your money. I’m used to earning what I have. But what you do for our children is priceless. Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. I love them.” He didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t need to.
Colt was a man of few words and had hidden his emotions so well during their marriage she’d assumed he didn’t care. On the contrary, he’d cared deeply.
Why had it taken her so long to figure out how much he was worth? And she didn’t mean money or a string of properties or a fleet of cars and motorcycles—though she did appreciate the motorcycles.
He was worth her love. Not just the all-consuming passion she’d felt in the beginning that had turned into resentment when she felt he hadn’t responded to her as passionately. But something much deeper. The everlasting kind of love.
It tore her apart to know it was too late for them to have a second chance.
Or was it?
Colt parked near the small Italian restaurant and observed his surroundings. While he wasn’t as good at this as Brett or Mirabella, the few skills obtained while he was in the army and from Brett came in handy now.
By the way her gaze moved, she did the same.
“All clear.” He clicked his seatbelt open.
“Yes.” Sure enough, she didn’t wait for him to get out of the car. But now it didn’t irk him. Doing things for herself was part of who Mirabella was.
He caught up with her fast and did his best to shield her as she hurried to the restaurant.
Once they were inside, a female voice called out. “Mirabella!”
As she waved to a woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with dark cropped hair that barely reached her collar, he recognized Aster Andrade. Named for her star quality, not the flower, he guessed. Little appeared flower-like about her. Off-screen, she didn’t wear any makeup. That, together with her sneakers and simple jewelry, just a chain with a cross, made her look very different from her TV persona.
Still, she was easily recognizable, from the time she’d interviewed him about Second Chance at Life, as well as from seeing her on TV.
At the table, Mirabella took a seat. “Glad to see you again. I hope you won’t mind if Colt joins us for lunch.”
“Sure.” Aster smiled at him, warmly enough, but not bright enough to be considered flirting. “Glad to see both of you again and a pleasure to share a meal with you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He sat down, keeping their surroundings in his vision.
Thankfully, Aster had a table in the back of the restaurant, and while Mirabella chose the seat with her back to the wall—as she’d always done—he could still see most of the restaurant from his place.
A smiling waitress showed up to take their orders. Considering the long line of people waiting to be seated, it was a good thing Aster had gotten them a table. But then, maybe her celebrity status and the people coming to the table for a selfie with her could’ve had something to do with it.
But everything looked peaceful enough, so he let himself relax a little.
“So are you back together?” Aster eyed them too eagerly. “I’d love to do a human interest feature on you as a couple. I’m sure a lot of people would like to see what really happens in the lives of billionaires and their families. Oh, we’ll also add the information about a serial killer to the story.” Aster licked her lips like a cat anticipating a juicy fish.
Mirabella’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Colt and I are not an item. We’re just… working together right now. And you’re not making a feature about my family or my involvement in the case of the Daisy Killer. I don’t want the media coming anywhere near Corbin and Kitty.”
“Oh yes, you have twins, too. Even better.” She rubbed her hands together and grinned. “The public loves twin stories. This could be really good.”
His gut tightened at how easily Mirabella dismissed the possibility of them being together. He thought something changed between them. She’d shared things about her previous marriage and bounced ideas off him for her case. She’d even held back from telling him off for carrying her to bed. All the things she’d never done before. He’d caught her looking differently at him.
As if… As if she wondered, too, how things could be between them.
Apparently, he was wrong.
He forced his thoughts to present matters and leaned forward with a smile. “We’d like to keep our lives private, and we hope you’ll respect that.”
Aster flipped her long bangs back. “Okay, I get it. But come on, you’ve got to give me something. I’ll be providing information to you.”
“How about I tell you what I know about the previous Daisy Killer murders? Whatever I can give you without breaking client confidentiality.” Mirabella hesitated, then continued. “And I can give you a scoop on how Cantorini died, though I’d rather anything I tell you about all this wasn’t published until we’ve cleared up this case.”
“Fair enough.” Aster n
odded.
Then they all quieted as the waitress brought their orders, a mouthwatering aroma rising from the steaming garlic bread.
He tried a bite of his chicken marinara—the perfect tang. This wasn’t one of those restaurants popular only for being popular. This one was popular for the good food and great service. Still, as he scanned the patrons, he wished Aster had picked a different spot to meet.
Somewhere more private and less dangerous.
At least, nobody had recognized him yet. Having a beard now helped.
Aster forked through her green salad and sighed. “I’d love some of what you’re eating, but the network and my agent have been at me about my weight. Okay, let’s talk. You probably know the general information about the victim. Name Nicole Mathers. Final-year college student, no personal issues or bad company that her parents or teachers know of.”
“Yes.” Mirabella sipped her iced tea. “I have that information.”
Aster popped another cherry tomato into her mouth and chewed, then leaned forward. “This, you may not know. She broke up with her boyfriend a month ago and he took it hard. The network hasn’t aired the interview I did with him yet. He appears devastated. But he’s the main police suspect, though they’re keeping that quiet.”
“Interesting. His name?” Mirabella’s gaze sharpened as she entered the details the reporter told her into her cell phone. “Thanks!”
“And I also talked to the victim’s sister who found the body. The police didn’t want me publicizing this, but the girl was stabbed multiple times in her abdomen.” Aster’s voice lowered.
Eyebrows shooting upward, Mirabella put her glass on the table fast. “That’s unusual. Most of the Daisy Killer’s victims were overpowered and restrained first, then stabbed in very specific locations.”
“The element of surprise?” He drank some of his limonata, the cold, slightly tangy liquid refreshing. An unclear suspicion stirred in him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Most likely, we’re dealing with a copycat. A copycat who’s not as physically strong as Cantorini. That guy was like an ox.” Mirabella continued putting a dent in her arrabiata. Apparently, talking about murders didn’t affect her appetite. Even talking about the man who came so close to murdering her.
